


Shear Happiness

by CAPSING



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (what do you mean there's no tag for it?!), Alien/Human Relationships, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cultural Differences, Grooming, M/M, barbershop au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 08:11:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9226115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CAPSING/pseuds/CAPSING
Summary: Professional Dog-Groomer Shiro gets Sendak out of a hairy situation.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Full disclosure – ungroomed animals hurt my soul.  
> For Shendak Week - Theme - Grooming.  
> This one goes to @suddenlyapples - whom I've promised "a Floop that goes Fluff" ;)

By the seventh business owner who refused service to Sendak, claiming they were unequipped to provide him with his required service, Sendak was compiling a report in his head. Said report to high-command included a reevaluation of the Earth importance to the Galra Empire, as well as detailed suggestion to redefine Homo-Sapiens in the official Galactic Sentient Species Index of the Empire.

It’s been three Earth-hours by now, since Sendak went out to search a suiting establishment to sort through his predicament; namely, his fur.

Due to his recent injury, which resulted in the removal of his left arm, he was imprisoned in an Earth-based sickbay. He then had to tolerate two Earth-weeks of mandatory bed-rest, forced upon him by the staff (who liberally abused their right to administer drugs to subdue him), which meant he had to suffer the consequences of not keeping to his routine.

It was bad enough he had to resort to approaching humans on the matter; it wasn’t as if he could ask another Galra to tend to his matted fur. Even if they weren’t all either his subordinates or colleagues, the act of mutual grooming was extremely intimate; but much less so when performed by a human, as they were completely oblivious to the significance of the ritual, as well as aliens, which stripped the intimacy right off the concept.

Sendak pushed the matter back as far as he could, until he woke up to find the range of motion of his remaining limb limited by the tangles and knots along his shoulder and back, to the point he couldn’t even lift his arm without his skin pulling from several points at the same time.

Ideally, he would’ve consulted a medic; but the ones on Earth were ignorant of the finer points regarding Galra physiologically, their studies only consisting of the bare necessities to provide first-aid under emergencies (such as a Galra commander rushed to the emergency room, on the verge of bleeding to death). They left the remains of his upper left arm grotesquely patched-up, a scarred tissue which carried further into shoulder, creating unsightly bald patches upon it, as if the one on his face wasn’t grisly enough as it was.

The fact remained, however, that Earth was the only planet aligned with the Empire in that particular solar system, and any shuttles to nearby alternatives would take far too long – time he couldn’t afford to waste.

Humans, the predominant species on Earth, were mostly furless creatures that ranked around average on the scale of their intellectual level in the Empirical Index, and much-below-average in their physical strength. However, they gave what fur they had a notable significance in their culture. Special establishments designated for human-fur were commonly marked with two crossing lines, both ending in a hollow circle.

Yet, when Sendak finally deigned to enter those, he was rebuffed with the most inane excuses babbled at him, which had him growing more and more frustrated.

Spotting the eighth establishment, Sendak decides to have it his last attempt at seeking aid. He was not vain, but he did have his pride. He wouldn’t stoop so low to grovel before those naked aliens; he’d rather tough-out a shuttle ride for a few cycles than humiliate himself in such a manner.

Hissing a breath through his teeth, he pushes the door open to a soft chime, ducking his head and bending his frame to step in through the narrow doorway; humans liked to enter their holes through crooks and crannies, rather than a proper avenue for those of reasonable proportions.

“Just a minute!” Calls a voice from the back of the shop.

The place is different from the previous ones Sendak visited; for one, it has a sitting area, and another small gate separating the foyer from the interior room. Sendak fumbles with the primitive manual lock, meant for fingers that are delicate, not practical, and battles with it shortly before managing to enter and lock it behind him.

Other than the pesky obstacle, the differences are welcome; there’s no other humans loitering about, and the tunes that carry in the air don’t grate Sendak’s ears like the basses and screeches in five of the previous businesses. There are two metal desks, one by the other, and another hallway leading towards a different area; a human soon steps out of it.

“Good morning,” the human, assumingly the owner of the place, greets Sendak, despite the fact it’s well past the ‘morning’ period of the Earth’s solar-cycle. “How can I help you, sir?”

Sendak takes them in; it’s a human male, a mature specimen, though it’s tricky to estimate a certain age – the overall build suggests a young adult, but the line of hair on his head that lacks pigment is an indicator of old age. That was one of humans’ more interesting quirks; completely opposite to Galra, who gained the dark stripe on the top of their heads when their physical potential reached its peak, human bodies seemed to reflect only what they lost, instead of gained. Sendak knew humans used certain chemical concoctions to alter the colours of their hairs; it may have been the case, though the air is thankfully not carrying that heavy bitter scent, like in those previous establishments that turned him down.

The human wears a pink robe above a standard set of clothes, that’s without sleeves or back; Sendak would guess it was a traditional garb, a uniform fit for the part, but no one in the previous places wore similar garments. He feels himself relax just a fraction in response to the familiar colour.

“I require your services,” Sendak states flatly, unsubtly trying to impose his will by physical intimidation; the fur on his cheeks starts gaining volume, enlarging his face.

“Okay,” the human responds, drawing out the vowel while looking around Sendak’s feet. “You’d like to make an appointment, then?”

“I would.”

The human tilts his head back and forth vertically, a sign humans use to cue several meanings; Sendak assumes one of those is that of agreement, as the man pulls a square device from one of the drawers and a stylus from behind his ear.

“Your name?” he asks.

“Sendak.”

The human looks up from the device, lips curling up; there’s a vertical scar slashing his face in the middle, though it’s not as unsightly, probably because human faces are rather unattractive as a whole.

“I’m Shiro,” he introduces himself, though Sendak does not deem his name relevant. “Which time should I book you at, Sendak?”

One of the reasons Sendak already had in the human-reevaluation request, was their illogical manner of speaking; when one interacted with a human, they might need to guess their intention more than thirty-three point seven percent of the time.

“Now.” Sendak replies.

“Now?” The human echoes back at him, this time tilting his neck and upper body, as if checking that no other person set an ambush behind Sendak’s back.

“Are you preoccupied?” Sendak asks drily, bracing himself for an affirmative answer.

“… No, no,” the man shakes his head slightly – this time on an horizontal axis – before putting the device down and gesturing towards one of the metal desks with his hand in a manner Sendak guesses is an unspoken order to relocate.

The hand, Sendak notes, is inorganic; though most of the human’s right arm is covered, the hand itself is metallic-grey, with four of the fingers coloured black and a white thumb. When Sendak keeps still, the hand drops; Shiro’s other hand comes up to tug the edge of his sleeve down, but the fabric doesn’t stretch, so Sendak can’t guess why he’d do so in the first place.

After a moment of fumbling, Shiro clasps both arms behind his back, and smiles. Humans have a wide variety of meanings to their smiles, so Sendak can’t be sure what it means.

“I’m just…” Shiro takes a few moments to compose the rest of the sentence, “… unused to –,” he says, before pausing, “I mean, I haven’t yet had the chance for a Galra customer.”

Sendak waits in silence, patience fraying; he rolls a stiff shoulder slightly, and lets the unpleasant tug at his skin remind him to keep his mouth shut.

The human chuckles, then brings a hand to rub at his nape. “I guess, I need more to work with.”

“More of what?”

“Information,” Shiro says, “what exactly did you come here for?”

That’s simple enough; Sendak tells him, keeping his explanation brief and pointing out his requirements.

“I see,” Shiro says at the end of it, despite the fact that Sendak hadn’t shown him anything yet. “Okay, that can be done.” He taps his index finger a few times against his lips, before looking up at Sendak. “It’s going to take a few hours, at least.”

“Time isn’t of essence.”

Shiro bobs his head, before passing Sendak and opening the gate, to fiddle with a small sign on the door. He returns, locking the gate behind him, and gestures with his arm again – though he uses his inartificial limb, this time.

“You can sit down, and, uh,” he scratches the top of his head, “take off…” he trails off, but Sendak doesn’t need his instructions. He unclasps his armor to the sound of drawers being opened and closed repeatedly, to the ringing of the metal desk echoing against the weight of the tools laid upon it. Sendak removes the top part of his armor gingerly, mindful of his own state; while the armor was mandatory, he chose to forgo the basic thermal layer worn underneath, considering the task at hand. Removing his boots strains his shoulder to the point of pain, though nothing that disables him from moving in the short term – and he manages to finish the process with the human non-the-wiser about the extent of his condition.

 

“Okay, let’s get–“

Sendak turns to the human, who seems momentarily paralyzed with shock, his skin colouring red and his dark pupils turning smaller.

With a sharp, sudden motion, he turns his back to Sendak.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” his voice pitches an octave higher, stopping to swallow loudly, “could you please wrap one of the towels around your waist? No offense, but–“

Belatedly, Sendak recalls humans are rather fussy on the subject of clothes. Galra, who have their natural fur, use clothes only in a practical manner – to regulate their bodies’ temperature in a difficult climate or situations and keep their bodies from physical harm. Humans, however, developed a strong aversion to their own naked form, which they appear to apply to other creatures, regardless; having no fur, they cling into their makeshift replacements to cover their bodies and minds both.

As a Commander at the service of the Galra Empire, Sendak had acquired diplomatic skills – he was expected to represent the Empire and carry its glory and success throughout the galaxy, and his actions reflected on the Empire itself. It would take no effort of him to concede to the request, so he does as Shiro asked; the cloth’s length is barely sufficient for his waist, and he has to keep it from dropping by holding both ends in his hand.

“My pelvis is covered,” he states when Shiro has yet to turn back. The words carry the desired result, and Shiro turns, his complexion still showing no sign of recovering its previous paler pink shade.

“Thank you, Sendak. I appreciate that. It’s be easier if you’d sit,” he gestures to the metal table for the third time. “You’re too tall,” he keeps talking before Sendak can protest (he’s not _too tall_ , it’s Shiro who’s _too short_ ), “– and from what you’ve said, most of the work would concentrate around your shoulders. If you wouldn’t mind?”

Sendak doesn’t mind, seeing as the human admitted to his own weakness, rather than assuming Sendak couldn’t keep still during the procedure.

He sits.

“Thank you,” Shiro thanks him again. “Before we begin–“

Sendak’s ears perk and his eye narrows; he suspected there might be an ulterior motive at work; that would explain why Shiro agreed while others did not. What would it be? An extravagant sum of money? Coercing a future ‘favour’? Creating a greater debt between them?

“Yes?”

“I, uh, just want to ask you– I mean, I haven’t had a Galra customer before, so to avoid any… grief,” the word comes out almost like a question, “please tell me if anything I do makes you uncomfortable.”

Sendak frowns. “Galra has much higher pain tolerance than humans,” he notifies him, but Shiro only shakes his head.

“No, I mean… if anything… if I’m…” the colour on his face darkens considerably, “… if I’m touching you in a way that’s not considered proper, please tell me, okay?”

Sendak allows himself a sardonic smirk; according to all social norms, Shiro is about to partake of extremely improper behavior. That’s the entire reason Sendak was there to begin with.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t perform any physical contact that would cause me further duress, emotional or otherwise.”  

Shiro makes a choked sound, but bobs his head again and draws near.

“I’m going to check your back first, okay? I’d start with the shoulders, then the rest of it.”

“That would be agreeable,” Sendak allows, and lets the human step behind him.

“I’m lowering the table first,” Shiro seems adamant to announce his actions clearly, acting as if Sendak could spook at any second. If anything would make Sendak react unexpectedly, it would have a violent outcome, rather than him fleeing from the battle – but he’d hardly maim a human for such a reason; such an incident would cause far too much administration work – too much forms to fill and hearings to attend after, and he’s sure plenty of it awaits him as soon as he’s cleared for active duty again.

The table is lowered until the tips of Sendak’s claws graze against the floor.

“I’m going to check your fur first, okay?” Shiro asks yet again, making Sendak think maybe it’s the human who needs reassurance in this situation, though he can’t make himself care much.

Despite just agreeing to it, the touch against Sendak’s back almost makes him flinch away. Shiro’s fingers feel like they’re barely skimming against the surface of his fur, creating an irritating ticklish sensation. Sendak flexes his claws on the towel, allowing them to pierce the fabric as collateral damage he’d pay for later. Sendak is unaccustomed to such touch; the human’s blunt, thin fingers card through his fur, pausing at random to poke and prod certain area. He glances to the side to the assortment of tools Shiro plans to use; they are mostly blades in different shapes, that seem sharp enough to cut but not to pierce. Even if the human was foolish enough to try and use any of those, he doubts he’s manage to cause serious damage, or even press the blades deep enough to cut into Sendak’s tough outer-muscles.

Meanwhile, Sendak hears the human muttering under his breath, mostly swallowing words; he waits.

The hands leave his back and Sendak feels momentarily bereft; he recognizes that his instincts kicked in, encouraging him to prolong physical contact as much as he could.

He ignores them; it was to be expected, after all, and Sendak would not succumb to such foolish urges – he did no such thing before, so it is but a small additional nuisance he has to endure.

“I think we’d start by taking out all of that dead fur,” Shiro tells him. “It concentrates mainly here– “ Sendak feels him pressing his hand against each of his shoulders, “– and here –“, the hand brushes lightly against his lower back. “So I’d need to pluck it all out before we’d get anything else done. Could you please bring your back closer?”

Sendak complies to Shiro’s request; the table lowers further, until Sendak’s legs bend and he all but feels Shiro breathing down between his shoulders.

“It’s going to take a while, I’d have to do it by hand.” Shiro says, and at this point Sendak wants to pluck out his tongue and beat him with it.

“I, uh, I’m going to start.”

 

The touches start out light and hesitant, slightly below his right shoulder. One hand plucks the dead fur, while the other strays nearby – either pulling the skin taut at certain points, smoothing the fur down or merely resting, assumingly to help Shiro stabilize himself against Sendak’s back; he doesn’t weigh much, so it’s no hardship. Not too long after, it proves Shiro requires at least one limb to keep his posture; Sendak feels the warmth of Shiro’s left arm where it’s braced along his back, and Shiro’s slight weight leaning on it as he removes more and more of Sendak’s inner coat.

“Sorry!” Shiro squeals when he tugs at a sensitive spot, though Sendak barely notices; every pore that’s released from the suffocating dead weight tingles pleasantly, making Sendak’s brain react in a similar manner to the narcotics forcibly applied to subdue him at the hospital. This time, however, rather than shut his brain down, it seems to reshape the priorities on Sendak’s mind.

Verbal functions make way for tactile sensors, sharpening the sensations along his back as to savor the experience to its full extant. Dully, he recalls this biological intoxication is his own body manipulating him to protract the encounter and attempt to recreate it in the future; but that doesn’t register as particularly important, so he lets the thought slide away and make room for the pleasant sensation of fingers running along his back.

New sounds register through the pleasant haze of Sendak’s mind; it sounds like Shiro is using his vocal cords, but keeping his mouth shut, which sends the vibrations reverberating around his chest and amplifies them despite the closed lips that serve as a barrier to the soundwaves. The melody is distinctively non-Galra; it lacks order, structure and balance.

It’s exotic; Sendak wants to hear more of it.

The ministrations to the fur on his back keep as well as the muted human sounds. Shiro moves away from his right shoulder, backing away and giving room for a gush of chilled air to pick at Sendak’s back and startle a grumble out of him. Shiro quickly picks up on his err and uses both of hands to knead the stiff muscles underneath the fur.

The following action is the unfortunate result of Sendak being caught unprepared; a sonorous content purr rattles in his chest, made louder by the small room.

The hands on his shoulder still for an excruciating moment, before repeating the motion of kneading his sore muscles, resulting in another involuntary purr.

He is unfamiliar with the practice, but it turns beneficial; he feels the blood circulation increasing due to the particular handling, which borders between painful and pleasurable until it’s difficult to discern.

 

“Your shoulder’s really stiff,” Shiro speaks out, breaking the spell; it’s like his words popped right through all the efforts Sendak’s brain have put up to make him content, to pull it back into its near-constant state of vigilance.

“I’m aware,” Sendak replies sullenly; it feels like he’d been cheated out of a rightfully deserved reward, though clearly no such thing occurred.

Prolonged exposure to human presence might have a deteriorating effect on his mind.

 

The human makes a muted sound again, and rearranges himself so Sendak can see him at his peripheral vision. He seems completely unbothered by Sendak’s scars or amputated limb. By now, Sendak can tell he’s not faking his disinterest – he simply remains fixed on his assigned goal – untangling the mess that came to be of Sendak’s back.

Shiro rolls his shoulders; the grinding of the bones against one another is audible. Then he presses the knuckles of each of his remaining organic hand, recreating the noise on a smaller scale. He takes a deep breath and sets to works.

This time Sendak doesn’t sink as deep as he did into the lull of relaxation; with the human in sight, his ingrained defenses keep nagging his brain to keep alert. Despite that, the experience is still incredibly enjoyable. With every pull of Shiro’s fingers he feels better, like shrugging off the burden of a millstone off his back. After his injury, Sendak was too groggy to find what it was the bothered him; now it’s clear his neglectful state affected his psyche just as it affected his form.

Shiro diligently works through his left shoulder, which is trickier than the first; the scarred tissue interrupts the flow of the fur, the knots are thicker and there’re already tears at Sendak’s skin. Yet Shiro is clearly a professional – he meticulously takes to each turf of fur with a tenderness Sendak is unaccustomed to. He starts from the center, near Sendak’s spine, and works towards the scarring, keeping to his muted human mouth-sounds. Sendak feels a prickle of unease; having anyone near the butchered remains of his arm brings a natural desire to protect himself from further injury. He doesn’t have to reign himself for too long; Shiro takes to run his fingers through patches of fur he’d already plucked, and Sendak can feel the human’s dull claws scratching lightly at the skin underneath, checking for remaining dead undercoat before moving on.

“Your fur is pretty great,” the human speaks, unprompted, and Sendak feels his shoulders tense in response, turning his mechanical eye at Shiro. The human is too preoccupied with Sendak’s shoulder to notice.

“I hadn’t known it was this versatile.” He runs his hand over Sendak’s shoulder again, this time smoothing the fur down. Sendak isn’t sure if he’s being mocked, but decides to act as if he hadn’t heard that. Instead, he inspects the walls of the room. They’re painted in soft homogenous hues, interrupted here and there by identical squares that hold small printed pictures under a glass cover. It’s practically an ancient craft by Galra standards, having holovids, but humans are a disgustingly sentimental race that kept sticking to old habits like the suckers on an xeowedcessab’ tentacle (nasty things, xeowedcessabs were).

Most of the pictures feature Shiro standing behind or next to smaller furred creatures; some of them are dogs, a domesticated race of creatures humans kept as companions to satisfy their inherent flawed need for socialization. They all had different types of coats, build and colours, but seemed well taken care of. In one of the squares on the far-off wall, one of the creatures – a rather large white one, with bizarre cover of fur that grew in circles above her paws and torso – is licking Shiro’s face. Shiro’s facial expression suggests merriment, as he’s smiling with an open mouth – but his eyes are closed and it seems he’s trying to fight the animal off of him.

Indeed, Sendak thinks, trying to keep his mind off the contact against his wounded skin, with their constant contradictory behaviour, humans had to bend another race of creatures to their will and breed them throughout thousands of years to depend on them to sate their own selfish needs. Not clever, but manipulative– he carries on the thought in his mind as a light touch skitters around his scarring, switching to concentrate on the human’s melodies and how they merge with his weak frantic heartbeat. The first time Sendak heard a human’s heartbeat, he thought they just might explode straight in his face, humming so quickly in their chests like they’d burst; it was unnerving, at the time, since it happened when he was but a cadet, and he’d thought it’d reflect poorly on him in his mission report. He eventually learnt to tolerate it, and the sounds Shiro makes, as a whole, fuse together effortlessly, carrying in the way his fingers trace lines and free the knots and dead tissue to make room for growth of both muscle and fur.

Unwittingly, Sendak sinks into a light meditative trance, the rhythm buzzing in his head. When the fingers again prod and knead at his muscles the purr he lets out is a constant pleased response, not stopping even when there’s pain tugging at his sore muscles.

 

A long, loud sigh brings him out of the trance, the ends of the expelled air tickling at his freshly cleared skin.

“I don’t know about you, but I could use a break,” Shiro speaks as Sendak wearily blinks his eye; a headache is starting to form as his sensory intake sharpens in a single instant, and he bites back a groan of displeasure at the brightness. The cool air of the room blows lightly against his freshly untangled fur, as thin sharp needles scratch in long motions across both of his shoulders, stopping every few strokes before returning. “It must be pretty exhausting to keep so still.”

Sendak sneers, actually baring his fangs; after his drawn out compliance, his naturally aggressive nature backlashes, as if to make up for the lost time.

“Don’t compare me to the likes of you,” he bites out, feeling frazzled without knowing why. “ _Sitting_ wouldn’t diminish my energy or strength.”

Shiro doesn’t even flinch at the display. “I would never dare to presume,” he answers, and Sendak distinctly suspects he is being outright mocked, “but the likes of _me_ would like to have lunch, after spending three hours hunched over, plucking fur.” He raises both of his hands, covered with purple hairs, staring straight back at Sendak.

Sendak doesn’t respond – he doesn’t have a device to read the time with, but Shiro hardly has a reason to lie. The light from outside seem to back up the time-frame that had passed.

“Would you care to join me?” Shiro adds, just before Sendak has the chance to bristle, “I know we’re not done yet, but I’m pretty hungry.”

Confused, Sendak weighs his options; accepting food, being provided to by someone else, is another extremely intimate act. The first time a Galran delegation came across a common dining hall on Earth, there’d been an outright uproar, as the scandalized envoys were on the brink of blowing up the tentative treaty and downright blowing up the planet.

(And restaurants – he shudders – those are practically _everywhere_ , in plain sight!)

On the other hand, he finds that as his mind gradually shook itself from the influence of the grooming, he was rather hungry as well; digesting would help him keep his composure some more.

 

“Fine,” he agrees curtly, and Shiro smiles at him, stretching his limbs over his head and behind his back. His work-cloth is almost entirely purple by now, pink peeking behind the dead fur that clings to it. His face has some of the fur sticking to it too, as well as his hair.

Sendak has the most disturbing urge to lick his own fur off of Shiro’s hair. He feels himself salivating at the thought, tongue growing heavier in his mouth, before he swallows, appalled at himself.

 

Had he seriously been considering, even in passing–

 

“Great!” Shiro says, unaware of Sendak’s inner turmoil. “Are you allergic to anything?”

He walks around the table to the other side of the room, poking his boot at a round metal disc on the floor. “Wake up, Rover. It’s time to eat.”

The disc, apparently a robot of some sort, whirrs awake; Sendak is perplexed.

“You feed your robots?”

“Huh?” Shiro looks at Sendak, not grasping the fairly simple, logical question. “No?”

The robot rolls around the floor aimlessly, before crashing against the wall. It rolls back, whirls around itself, and continues to slide on the floor, only to repeat the process.

Shiro sighs before nudging the robot towards Sendak, herding it with both of his feet.

“And you hadn’t answered my question. I don’t want to poison you or anything.”

Sendak watches as Shiro leads the robot towards him, and as they both pass the table; he hardly believes the thing is advanced enough to process vocal commends, much less abstract ones.

The robot whirrs again, then beeps loudly, a light on its top blinking red. The floor, covered in piles of Sendak’s fur, slowly reveals itself as the robot swallows them, one by one, clearing a pile after pile and the spaces in between, leaving it clean and bare.

 

“Sendak?”

Looking up from the floor, Sendak finds Shiro standing very close to him; without any physical contact between them, the proximity is not as comfortable as it had been, to that point.

“What is it?”

“The food?”

Sendak frowns. “I fail to see how one _accidentally_ poisons another.”

“When one doesn’t know if an alien who came into his shop is _allergic–“_

“I’m not allergic,” Sendak barely believes how dimwitted humans can be, “I’m Galran.”

Shiro’s face twitch and he covers his mouth with his palm, while the corners of his eyes grow multiple wrinkles around them. “I know you are.” He removes his hand to uncover another amiable smile. “Never mind, forget it. I’ll be right back.”

He returns shortly after with a variety of foods. A primal part in Sendak’s mind gloats and basks at the sense of triumph that comes with being offered such tributes, at being acknowledged. It is downright uncomfortable, as his instincts boldly cross his sense of self to glorify the scenario, staging and all-out assault on every available receptor in his neboa gland, the part in his brain responsible for both pleasure and aggression.

Consciously, he knows the process is shifting his objective appraisal of the human; along with the fact he’d just been groomed by him, it skews his perception on every level. It’s just very hard to find it in himself to care, even when Shiro tells him that maybe it hadn’t been such a great idea, and they’d better eat someplace else.

He follows Shiro through the hall to a back room, again having to squeeze through the opening, which Shiro uselessly apologizes for. The room is small – to the right there’s an outdated human-plumbing system Sendak recalls as a ‘kitchenette’, with a loud buzzing fridge at the corner. To the left there are old wooden cupboard that smell unattended, with a slight rot – but not entirely unpleasant. In between, in the opposite wall to the door, there’s a large undefined shape and a very low wooden square, propped up on four short sticks, which Sendak guesses passes as a human surface meant to display different types of foods.

He’s pleased to find the undefined shape is a surprisingly comfortable surface to rest upon, a decently-sized cushion that molds against his form and takes his weight better than any of the other human-made furniture he’d come across.

Shiro brings him apples – which he’d known about, but hadn’t yet the chance to taste – as well as onigiri, small white balls of tiny grains that have a very strong scent, and a sandwich. He lays all the offerings on the low wooden square, and takes to sit across Sendak, directly on the floor.

Sendak starts with the onigiri, curious; he grabs three of them, noting their sticky structure. He chunks them into his mouth and chews a few times, encountering further flavor – the white grains apparently serve only as crust.

“Those are pleasing,” he allows himself to offer back to Shiro, licking off some of the grains the stuck to the fur of his fingers. Across him, Shiro colours red again, and plainly stares at Sendak; he assumes it’s only fair, since he’d want to watch his offerings being consumed as well.

It is a strange trait to share with the human.

It doesn’t take him long to go through the onigiri, so he moves to the apples; among the different types, he favours the greens. After finishing the sandwich, Shiro gets up and rummages in one of the upper cupboards, pulling a small container, and flips a switch on a jug that stands near the sink after filling it with tap-water.

 

“Was this all of it?” Sendak asks, still unsatisfied; it’d be poor of him to let Shiro leave him hungry after going through all of his efforts.

“I don’t think instant ramen has enough organic ingredients for it not to compromise your digestion system,” Shiro answers, sounding displeased. His expression seems slightly hostile, though Sendak dismisses the idea; he’d done nothing wrong. “So unless you want milk bones–” His mouth stretches in a smile again, and Sendak feels easier (which would later, upon inspection, would make him worry greatly).

“I wouldn’t be opposed.” Sendak agrees, and Shiro gives him a long, calculating look, before going over the other side of the room, opening another cabinet. As he opens the cabinet’s drawer, a cloud of fragrance carries to Sendak, followed by an open glass jar of wooden-like bars Shiro places in front of him. Sendak empties it before long; it is delicious, and looks far more appealing than the soggy stripes Shiro slurps into his mouth. He leans back into the cushion and waits until the human is done, stomachs full and content.

Sendak absentmindedly licks his teeth clean, running his tongue along his fangs. He runs his own hand through the fur on his left shoulder, finding is softest than ever; he made a good decision, coming here.

 

When Shiro is finally done with his meal, he picks the plates from the wooden surface and turns to the sink, making his peculiar mouth sound again.

“What are you doing?”

Shiro responds with another of those sounds, before replying coherently.

“I’m washing the dishes.”

“I’ve meant the sounds you just made. What does it serve as?”

“Huh?” Shiro repeats his unsatisfactory comment from before, making Sendak regret showing interest in the first place.

“You mean humming?”

“If I’d know what it was, I wouldn’t ask, would I.”

In reply, Shiro smirks, and _hums_.

Sendak huffs and sinks further into the cushion, too content with it to fall into such cheap provocation. The way the fur on his lower back pulls at his skin as he readjusts his position reinforces his reluctance to argue with the only useful human he’d come across, especially when said human’s work was far from done.

“I guess,” Shiro continues, toweling his hands dry after he put the dishes away, “humans do it because we don’t do so well with silence.”

“I gathered as much,” Sendak replies, to which Shiro chokes another weird sound, sounding like a continuous cough combined with a bark.

“And that thing?”

“Laughing?” Shiro asks, before replying with more of the same. It is rather grating. “It can have several meanings, depending on context, but right now I was just laughing because I found you funny.”

“I wasn’t joking.” Sendak frowns.

“I know.” Shiro grins and doesn’t bother to clarify, before stretching his arms again, raising them upwards along with his chin, baring his throat in a what in any other circumstances would account to a brazen invitation.

“Are you ready to continue?”

“Certainly,” Sendak says, preparing to get himself up, before Shiro stops him, placing his hand on his injured shoulder; considering the fact he’s been doing it for hours, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but Sendak’s body tenses immediately, though he allows the gesture.

“We can carry on here, if you’d like. It seems far more comfortable.”

“If you wish,” Sendak replies, aiming for nonchalance, though his brain greedily leaps at the fact Shiro is taking to care for his comfort. The hand squeezes his shoulder before Shiro leaves to get his tools. This room is much smaller than the main room, and the lights are considerably dimmed, to a level of illumination Sendak considers ‘normal’ and not just ‘tolerable’. There’s not much, other than cabinets, water facilities and some human-made machinery; Sendak appreciates the lack of clutter. The air is slightly warmer, but still fresh, way better than the air on a spaceship, no matter how advanced the air-recycling system is, holding hints of rotten wood, drenched carton boxes and lingering dust, alongside the prominent scent of _human_ encompassing it all.

 

Soon enough Shiro returns with his tools, donning a new garment over his clothes, sketched with black circles of varying sizes over a muted white. He places the different grooming tools on the wooden surface next to them and sits to Sendak’s left, next to his feet.

“There’s quite more to do, I guess,” he says, eyes roaming over Sendak’s form clinically, assessing. “We could either carry on working on your back and your neck, or if you’d rather we’d take a break and do your arm next. Then there’s the rest of you…” he trails off, cheeks turning slightly darker. Sendak notes to check this phenomenon when he’d return to his quarters; he knows certain Earth creatures change colours in order to intimidate or to warn others off, but that doesn’t seem the case.

“But I think we won’t be able to finish the entire thing today.”

When Sendak doesn’t reply, he carries on.

“What would you rather we’d do, then?”

“How many parts do you estimate you’d be able to finish in this session?”

“It’s hard to tell. Your fur isn’t consistent throughout your body, and every part needs different treatment. Your... chest,” he pauses to swallow, “looks like it’d take about as much time as your back.” He taps a finger across his lips twice, brows scrunching. “I’d say we could finish your arm and your lower back today, and the rest of it would take one or two sessions more, probably.”

Sendak takes to stand, using his feet and claws to ground himself to the floor before pulling himself up, mindful to keep the towel around his waist in place. He walks around Shiro, then lowers himself again to the cushion, repositioning his form to offer Shiro his arm.

“Okay then,” Shiro sighs, scooting closer. The new position is awkward; sitting down next to each other, the top of Shiro’s head barely reaches the middle of Sendak’s upper arm. Sendak slides down further on the cushion, centering its support on his lower back, until their heads are leveled with each other, and Shiro tugs the arm towards him.

“You don’t have to hold it like that,” he tells Sendak as he experimentally runs his fingers along the arm. “Just loosen it up.”

Seeing as the human proved to know his craft well, Sendak sinks even lower into the cushion, until he all but lies down on it, holding back a groan; after the hospital bed, the cushion’s way of supporting his weight has his back shuddering against it in joy. His arm rests across Shiro’s lap, and he can make him moving about, the methodical, systematic repetitive motion he uses to pluck the clumps out. Sendak faces another unpleasant thought; until he’d get a replacement for his missing limb, he has no way of grooming his own upper arm. The lower arm wouldn’t be a problem, using his teeth as he usually did, but even without his considerable muscle mass, he wasn’t flexible enough to reach all the parts that needed to be regularly groomed.

The small gleeful part in his brain that awoke due to the continuous grooming quickly sneaks in to the front of his mind to soothe him; he needn’t worry about such trivial things – Shiro would take care of them. It’s hard to remember why the idea seemed so ludicrous a few hours ago, with Shiro’s warm weight pressing against the length of his arm and his delicate fingers running along his muscles every once in a while along with a humming sound, he feels drowsy and content. He distantly notes his chest rumbling, the volume of his purrs growing steadily stronger until Shiro huffs a laugh, and Sendak only makes to purr louder to drown the sound.

“Darn it you’re cute,” Shiro mutters quietly while passing a single finger against the flow of Sendak’s coat, making one of Sendak’s ears twitch. He has half a mind to ask what _cute_ is, but the other half of his mind would rather keep purring while he’s being tended to, and he can’t do both. It’s simpler to sit still and enjoy it, letting his eyelid drop. It’s peaceful. It’s calm. It’s safe. He sinks deeper into the wooziness; surely, it’s all rig–

 

“SHIRO!”

Sendak snaps upright in a moment, snarling; there’s a loud clash, and he feels his fur bristle and rise around his form, crouched to attack the source of the noise. There’s an intruder approaching – Sendak would tear them apart with his teeth.

There’s a groan from somewhere on the floor; it’s a familiar sound, not a threat – he dismisses it.

 

 “Hey man, is everything alright? What’s with all the–“

A human walks through the door; they’re lean and small, their skin dark. Sendak can imagine how their spine would sound when he’s crush it.

The thought might’ve bled through to his stance; the human’s eyes widen.

“SWEET MERCIFUL JESUS,” they speak, far too loudly. “WHAT THE FUCK – Shiro!”

He follows the human’s gaze to see Shiro picking himself up from the floor to lean against the wall, his equipment strewn across the floor and the wooden furniture flipped halfway through, leaning against the kitchenette. Shiro’s left hand covers a bleeding cut on his left temple, and the smell of human blood is enough to sober Sendak to a decent extent.

Sendak forces himself to relax as the human rushes to Shiro’s side, rattling his ears to shake off his agitation. He picks the towel up to cover himself while Shiro tries calming the other human down, insisting he’s fine despite the fact the cut is still bleeding.  There’s other murmuring going on but Sendak’s too focused on trying to turn his focus to anything but the humans nearby to anchor himself back to his rationality – he takes to inhaling the scent of the room, trying to concentrate and map each point Shiro touched on the surfaces, leaving grease and dead cells behind – anything to keep him from lashing out, as his brain flooding itself to drown Sendak’s sense of self.

There was an evolutionary advantage to the construct of the brain that made the neboa gland responsible for pleasure and aggression – it allowed hyper-vigilance at a moment’s notice. However, in modern times, where Galra didn’t always have to struggle to keep their lives intact, that fail-safe mechanism was potentially problematic, and at times outright disastrous.

Sendak concentrates, following his training for these situations. He lets the claws at his feet dig into the concrete, scraping it with a displeasing noise – find a distraction, concentrate on that distraction, let it _ground_ you.

It’s easy to find – his distraction is bleeding not two feet away from him.

He continues through the protocol, forcing himself to answer the regulatory questions – where did Shiro touch the most in the room?

The fridge’s handle, with the right knob on the tap a close second.

Where did they touch least?

The top left cabinet, haven’t been brushed against in months.

Is there any unusual evidence they’ve left?

Blo- no, not that– saliva?

 

“It’s okay, Lance,” Shiro says, picking himself up before turning to Sendak, unaware of his turmoil under his tightly controlled expression. “Sorry, I must’ve lost track of time. I forgot Lance and I made plans for tonight.”

Sendak wishes to apologize as well, but the other’s human presence keeps his fur still puffed-out around his shoulders; he feels his skin tingling beneath it, the heat of his own blood rushing through it.

 

What was Shiro’s favorite spot to rest at?

The floor next to the fridge? No, not that.

The cushion?–

 

“Lance, why don’t you go wait outside? I’d be in a minute,” Shiro smiles at Lance, patting their shoulders. The other human – _Lance_ , Sendak puts a name on them to keep track in the future – moves their eyebrows in a peculiar way, and there’s a brief moment of tense silence, where Sendak is distracted enough to note to check if humans indeed are psy-null, as intelligence gathered.

Shiro turns to him; the skin around the cut is starting to change colour, turning dark, and interestingly enough- blue.

 

“On second thought,” Shiro turns back to Lance, “Why don’t you go ahead to that tea shop down the street? I need to wrap things up here.”

“If you’re sure,” Lance replies slowly, giving Sendak an openly hostile glare, which Sendak meets without flinching, curling his lip upwards just slightly.

Sendak’s mood, which was content not moment ago, feels even gloomier than this very morning. It’s like Lance sullied whichever relaxation Sendak had, ruining it with his shrill voice and unpleasant sharp odor. He notes, to his dismay, he’s displaying aggression over territory; the sight of Lance touching Shiro’s body makes his knees instinctively buckle, ready to pounce. The mere presence of him in the room is tainting it, and Sendak’s mind pushes at him to remove him from the place.

It’s embarrassing; he hadn’t had such an emotional outburst since he had primed.

His knees don’t unlock until he hears Lance exiting the main door and the turn of a lock behind them.

Sendak huffs and turns to see Shiro rummaging around the drawers until he pulls out a bandage, discarding the pack aside to awkwardly place it on himself.

He’s doing it wrong.

“I’ll do it,” Sendak snaps and snatches the bandage away, nudging Shiro’s head upwards with a brush of a knuckle under his chin. He prides himself on not licking Shiro’s wound clean as he fixes the bandage in place. He is in utter control on his mental facilities; he hadn’t been affected as much as he had originally assumed – he is as poised as ever, quick to recover from the event.

“Sorry for… that,” Shiro says again, breaking the tense silence, . “I completely lost track of the time, and I hadn’t–“

“I have taken a great amount of your time, it seems.” Sendak talks over him to keep Shiro from asking questions Sendak does not wish to answer, trying to act as if nothing not out of the ordinary, and as if he hadn’t seriously considered a federal offense that could’ve led to an intergalactic diplomatic crisis.

 

Humans, for all their soft fragile looks, were just as brutal and bloodthirsty as Galra. They were just better at masking it. It was a fair tactic, all things considered, but considering Sendak is still at the process of recovering from an armed confrontation, he isn’t enthusiastic at the concept of further conflict.

 

“How much do I owe you for your services?” He asks.

Shiro blinks at him a few times before looking surprised.

“But we’re not done!” He exclaims, as if Sendak isn’t painfully aware of it with the fur beneath his knees aggravating his state further. “I–“ Shiro starts, than sighs.

“I would not be opposed to extending your services,” Sendak intones laconically, as if his shoulders aren’t missing the touch of Shiro’s skilled fingers already. “If you are available.”

“I- I am!” Shiro blinks at him. “… Really?”

Sendak heads back out to the main room to don back his armor; he hears Shiro trailing behind him, and dully notes he’d left his back wide open for Shiro, any peril from it completely drained from his awareness. He saves that dimly horrifying development to when he’d return to his assigned quarters at the hospital for further reflection.

 

“The price?” Sendak asks again, fiddling distractingly with the small paying device he attached to his belt.

“Ah,” Shiro shifts, looking uncomfortable. The skin at the edges of the bandage start getting a purplish shade, which has Sendak’s right ear almost vibrating. “That’s- that’s the first time I’ve been hired to tend to Galra fur, actually,” he says, “So I don’t know how much to charge. How much is the usual rate?”

“Galra don’t have a ‘usual rate’ for such things,” Sendak answers, only to immediately regret it; his emotional instability had cost him a precious truth he did not wish to part with.

Shiro continues shuffling awkwardly, avoiding looking at Sendak; Sendak hopes it’s a human sensibility he’s unfamiliar with, rather than Shiro being weary of him after Sendak tossed him across the room. That’s the cost of avoiding field work, Sendak assumes; he grown too lax, letting his subordinates do all the menial tasks instead of him, that he hadn’t gathered enough experience to know if humans are always this troublesome when one wishes to end a successful exchange of services or after a purchase. It fits their species, he assumes; illogical and making things far more difficult than they should’ve.

Wordlessly, Sendak takes the device and punches a few numbers into it – eight times the estimated price he thinks the services were worth.

“Does this suffice,” he states rather than asks, because he dislikes being proven wrong.

Shiro splutters. “That’s–“ his eyes flicker from the screen to Sendak frantically. “You can’t be serious!”

“Too little, then.” Sendak says unhappily. “I apologize.” He moves to fix his false assumption, because while it is slightly pricy, it’s not as if Sendak has anything not provided to him by his rank and by the Empire; his clothes, his residence, his medical bills. Money means little to him, and he has no compunctions to part with it.

The device is snatched out of his hand.

“Are you crazy?! What did you plan on doing, _double it_?”

“No,” Sendak replies evenly, “I’ve meant to give you ten times the amount. For your services, as well as compensation for any offense caused by the previous transaction.”

“Sendak,” Shiro says, looking incredulous. “You’ve paid me _twelve grand_. For– for brushing you!”

Sendak has grown tired of the bothersome human habit of stating facts both parties are aware of.

“That’s- that’s too much!” Shiro exclaims, “I can’t accept it. That’s – that’s a rip-off!”

“Nothing had been ripped off,” Sendak frowns. “Your work had been extremely professional.”

Shiro sighs shakingly. “I need to sit down,” he says, sliding down the wall to sit again on the floor. Sendak gives him space, mostly because while he can take his payment device back, he tries not to act in a fashion which would deprive him from Shiro’s future services.

 

“Sendak, what you’ve paid me is far and beyond the usual rate. I can’t accept such a high amount without feeling like I’ve cheated you out of it.”

“I wasn’t aware of a common rate for these particular services existed on Earth,” Sendak replies. “Don’t waste both of our time and energy on such a trifle thing,” he says in blatant disregard to every cultural tolerance class he’d ever undertaken, “You could hardly cheat me if the decision was my own. Any implication otherwise would be an offense. I’m a Commander in the Galra head fleet. You’re hardly able to force me to act in a manner I do not wish to.”

“… I’m still uncomfortable with it,” Shiro mutters weakly, avoiding eye-contact.

“Your emotional state has been noted.” Sendak tells him, seeing no point in further conversing on the subject. “If you’d care to check your schedule, when could we continue the treatment?”

“How about tomorrow?”

It’s earlier than Sendak expected; surely a capable person such as Shiro had no problem finding clients? Maybe the business is new, and Shiro had yet to grow a list of repeat customers – Sendak is indeed in luck.

“It’d be here at seven in the morning,” Sendak nods.

“I don’t open until nine.”

Sendak stares him down, and Shiro offers another small smile.

“– But I think I can make an exception.”

“Excellent.”

“I’d see you then.”

Sendak takes his leave.

 

 

At night, when he’s settling down the lumpy cheap mattress of the hospital bed, a distinct scent comes to his nose slowly; Shiro’s hands, still lingering, the grease his skin naturally produced smeared all across Sendak’s fur.

It’s a very nice smell, Sendak thinks. Tomorrow, he’d make sure to mark the entrance with his own scent, to ward-off potential competition.

Grooming takes a long time, after all, and Shiro is a limited resource Sendak is not willing to share.

Maybe he’d hunt down a pigeon or three, too, to earn Shiro’s respect, to show he’s not as incompetent as his neglected fur may suggest.

 

Can’t hurt.

**Author's Note:**

> \- then Sendak comes back, groom-groom-vroom-vroom, and after all the galra are like "woah what how u so fancy??" they find out, then OTHERS start wanting Shiro's services, but Sendak's like nope I got him first get your own human losers - and he gets Shiro and Shiro gets him and makes sure Sendak's fur is the softest thing ever and when they cuddle Shiro wins at life and they all lived happily ever after (AND GOT SCREENTIME AT SEASON 2 SOBS CUPCAKE I HOPE UR OKAY BABE)  
> *  
> [NOW WITH THE CUTEST FANART OF EVER ](http://puu.sh/tPYO5/3bd08ef123.jpg) by the talented [spyfodder](http://archiveofourown.org/users/spyfodder), featuring an idea suggested by [theslumberinggreen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/theslumberinggreen). THANK YOU! ♥ 
> 
> Comments are loved! ♥ Constructive criticism, as well!


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